


Charts of Pain

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Series: The Choirgirl Set [4]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Dark, F/M, M/M, Series, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:43:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5716432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Encounter in the parking lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charts of Pain

You’re a special boy, Mulder. You always were. A thing of beauty and a joy for  
never. Those dark eyes of yours– hazel eyes, changing dark or light with  
emotion. Eyes I could chart for hours. And I don’t think anyone can help but  
rhapsodize on your lower lip. Fuck, man, you know what that lip does to me?  
You use it like a weapon, that pout. It turns women to mush, I bet you every  
time it makes Scully weak in the knees. It makes me want to taste it, bite it,  
claim it for my own.

Yeah, so I followed you from that prep-ass Marriott. What, did you really  
think I’d just let you go from me to *her* without any protection? I’d done my  
job for the evening, and I was free to pursue my own interests. And you,  
asshole, are interest number one on that very short list.

I wait in the parking lot. I knew you’d fuck her, you’re weak when it comes to  
these things. I admit it, she’s beautiful. A Pre-Raphaelite damsel hidden in  
Donna Karan. Not as beautiful as you are, but those eyes are shining stars,  
glorious blue sparkling things deep enough to drown in. God wrought well to  
create her form. But under that smooth soft exterior is steel, something as  
hard and cold and heartless as you fancy me.

Listen to me, a quick fuck with you and I turn into some kind of poet. Shit,  
that’s pretty crazy. But you always did drive me crazy. You, you, you with  
your attitude and cocky hiss and quick wit. “Did it say how many people were  
put to sleep by their statistics?” Even then, who drove you to the edge? Not  
me. You wish. It was none other than Special Agent Dana Scully. You’re fucking  
nuts, man, and you turn us all out of our heads.

So I wait. I mean, I want to make sure you got out of there okay. And damned  
if you weren’t stupid enough to tell her! How did I know, you ask. I can just  
tell, the way your shoulders sagged walking out, the constant gazes back. You  
tell her the truth and she tells you to fuck yourself.

But you don’t have to. I’m here, even if she’s not. So I wait. So I wait and  
watch as you get close to that ugly car of yours, and when you’re fumbling  
with the keys, I step out of the shadows. You jump a little. Not expecting me?  
Did you really think I could wait until Wednesday?

“Hey, man, hard night?” I sneer at you.

“Go to hell, Krycek,” he says. “I don’t have the fucking time for you.”

“Good thing it’s not time I’m interested in, Mulder,” I reply. You, damn you,  
are beautiful. That lean body of yours, even when stooped in defeat, it’s  
graceful, a runner’s body, a swimmer’s body. I gaze at you hungrily. Each  
muscle is tensing and untensing, and I fancy I can feel your pulse quicken,  
see through you, hunter watching his prey.

“I’m going home.”

“Sure you are. After you wait for her to go. Isn’t that right, Mulder?” I ask.  
“She can take care of herself, asshole.”

“She might decide to blow her head off.”

I sneer. “You’re a big arrogant prick, Mulder. If Scully hasn’t blown her head  
off over– let’s see, being abducted and experimented on, her sister’s murder,  
her cancer, her sterility, the death of her child, the fact that thing in her  
neck could fuck her over at any time– what the hell does it matter to her if  
you’re fucking me instead of her? She can find another vibrator. I bet she  
knows all about them.”

You slam me against the car so quickly I can’t believe it. Your elegant hand  
tightens around my throat, cutting off the air supply.

“Don’t you ever speak that way about her,” you growl. “Don’t you dare, you  
fucking rapist, you murdering asshole.”

“I didn’t rape you, Mulder, so get that out of your fucking head right now,” I  
gasp. “Let me go, man. Knock it off.”

You don’t move. “You don’t know anything, Alex, do you?” you whisper, your  
other hand finding my groin and grinding against it. “You don’t know a  
god-damned thing.”

“I can’t breathe, Mulder,” I say. I can smell you, alcohol and Scully in my  
nostrils. It’s heady. She hovers like a ghost, the unfortunate third in our  
game. Your hand loosens ever so slightly on my throat, but I can’t get a good  
breath. “What the hell is on your mind?”

“You. Her. I can’t get either of you to let me go. I didn’t ask for this,  
Alex,” you say, moving in closer, your tongue flickering out and finding my  
earlobe. I buck involuntarily, especially with your hand moving like it is.

“What do you want, Mulder? What the fuck is it driving you?” I hiss. “You let  
us do this. You need us both.”

You squeeze both throat and groin, and your lips are so close to mine, please  
kiss me, sweet God–

“I don’t need you, Alex,” you murmur. “You don’t know shit.”

You release the hand on my groin, and grab your keys. You unlock the car, open  
the locks to front and back seat. I know what you’ve got in mind. Those eyes  
meet mine and silent understanding flickers between us. Thank God I’m  
prepared. I have everything for this little encounter.

“Get in first,” you order, letting go of my throat and pushing me toward the  
car. A silent thrill of ecstasy shakes my frame. I don’t have to command this.  
I can get what I want from you. I do what you say, but I’m not going to let  
you command this. I can be cruel even when I’m being kind. I don’t know why,  
but I have to hurt you, though I’m celebrating this victory.

You close the car door and lock it behind you, and swoop in for a kiss. And  
that lower lip is as tasty as I ever dreamt. Kiss. Hell, it’s more than a  
kiss; it’s practically oral sex. It’s war, tooth and tongue and lip, the taste  
of you and her and salt and blood and life.

“Tell me, little boy,” you growl at me as we break from our kiss. “What were  
you doing out so late at night?”

“Looking for you.”

You laugh and cup me through the jeans, and I pull off my jacket and shirt.  
Your eyebrow raises in surprise.

“What are you doing, Alex?” you ask lazily. “You act like you’re about to get  
some or something.”

Mulder, you are such an asshole. I want to scream and fuck you as you sit, but  
all you do is look at me, and we *are* in the backseat of a car, it’s not as  
though there’s much space between us.

“Do you have some moral objection to me fucking you, Mulder?”

You look at me with those lazy eyes. “Little boy, you have no idea. C’mere.”

Your mouth is skimming my throat now, I always knew those lips were talented,  
and I rake my hands over your back as your mouth moves down, towards my chest.

“Don’t call me little boy, Mulder,” I moan as you rub against my groin, and I  
am extremely hard by now, straining against the jeans. You chuckle, damn you  
right to hell, and unbutton the top two buttons.

“Learn some control, little boy. You’ll get what you deserve,” you say. “And  
I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want. I’m so sick of it, Alex. Sick of you,  
sick of her, sick of being sub. I want some control of my own life.”

I burst into laughter. The more fool he. “You don’t get it, do you, asshole?”  
I ask, laughing and moaning as you lick at my navel. “You don’t get it for one  
fucking second what you do to me?”

You nip at me, but it still feels good, and I fumble to find condoms, lube,  
anything, I’m always prepared, a good little one-armed Boy Scout. You push my  
arm away and grab it yourself.

“I don’t know what I do to you. I know what you do to me. You beat me down,  
Alex, you both fucking beat me down!” you cry, desperation crackling in your  
voice. “Why don’t the two of you fuck each other over instead of me?”

“Because we hate ourselves for loving you, Fox,” I say. “You don’t get it, you  
cocksucking bastard. I can’t believe you don’t know.”

You shudder and finish unbuttoning my jeans, and I can almost see you cock  
your head to discover I’m not wearing any underwear. I’m straining towards  
you, I want your mouth on me so bad I can taste it in mine.

And then I find out how good that mouth of yours is. You take me in, without  
any warning, just the feeling of your hot, wet mouth on me, moving, God, God,  
God! I knew it. I knew it just watching your lip tremble, you know how to move  
your tongue, and my fingers lace in your hair, needing more wanting more and  
you owe me this you owe me this, Mulder, and I’m not a religious man but I  
pray to God as you do this to me.

“We hate ourselves because you’ve captured us,” I say, no longer speaking just  
for myself. “In love with your pain. Because your pain is infinite, Fox,  
Mulder– oh GOD, don’t stop!”

My hips buck wildly, and you must be choking, you deserve it, but you don’t  
stop and God, you got a mouth on you, boy– and I’m so close so close  
soclosesoclose–

I cry your name as I spill over the edge, into an almost-oblivion.

When I come back to myself, you’re looking at me with disdain, almost hatred.  
You’re cold, further away than I could imagine.

“Get the hell out of my car, Krycek,” you hiss at me. “Or I’ll kill you.”

“I guess this means no Wednesday at the Holiday Inn?” I ask sardonically.

“Fuck you,” you reply coldly. “Get out. And don’t get near me again, or I’ll  
blow your motherfucking head off.”

“What’ll happen when you want me again? I can find you, you can’t find me,” I  
tease, and you drag me close and kiss me again, a vicious kiss, and you bite  
my lip, and it hurts–

“Get the fuck out of my car, asshole,” you hiss, even at so close a position.  
“If you need me– tough shit.”

I pull open the door– no mean feat for a man with one arm– and scramble out,  
surprised by your change of demeanor. For a man who had his mouth between your  
legs, you have a pretty cold way of handling afterglow. I take off running for  
my own car, and gasp when I finally reach it.

What the hell was that?

I ask you this as I start up my car, put it in gear, drive off. I ask you this  
as I go to bed. What the hell is it with you, Mulder? I don’t get you. Not one  
fucking bit.

You, you, you– it would have been better for me if I’d fucking killed your  
ass in Tunguska. It would have been better for the world. It would have been  
better for your precious Scully.

I’ll come back for you, Mulder. It’s not over. You’ll get yours, because I owe  
you big time, and I always pay my debts. I can be so cruel when I have to be,  
and I have to be cruel to you, Mulder.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

 


End file.
